The Einzbern Castle in the wind and snow was like an ice-bound cage isolated from the world. Pure white snowflakes fell silently, covering the withered branches and stone paths of the courtyard, absorbing all sound and leaving only a heart-palpitating dead silence. Kanjuro and Jeanne strolled through it, their black figures leaving two clear rows of footprints on the boundless snow, which were soon buried by new snowfall.
"The next step?" Jeanne broke the silence, her voice sounding somewhat ethereal in the wind and snow. "This Holy Grail War seems to be nearing its end." She stated the fact, her gaze searching Kanjuro's face.
Kanjuro breathed out a mouthful of white mist, which condensed without dissipating in the cold air. A faint, indifferent smile played on his lips.
"Indeed. The small fry have been mostly cleared out. Fundamentally, all that's left is the oldest king of heroes, Gilgamesh, and my most stubborn king of knights, Artoria, whom we just visited." His gaze shifted toward the Gothic spires of the castle, as if he could pierce through the thick stone walls to see the scene inside. "The next goal is very simple."
He stopped and pointed toward the towering and cold main body of the castle.
"It's been a long time since I've visited my Illya as well."
Hearing this, a knowing and slightly mocking smile appeared on Jeanne's face. "You really are abnormally obsessed with the existence of 'daughters.'" She thought of Morgan, Mordred, and Artoria; every woman who held the title of 'daughter' to Kanjuro seemed to have fallen into a web of fate he had woven, from which they could not escape.
Kanjuro chuckled, the sound exceptionally clear and cold in the wind and snow.
"Obsessed? Perhaps. You should know, Jeanne, that of all things in the world, the most pure and hardest to let go of... is family affection." His eyes were deep, like cold stars in the dark night. "This is the best weapon for kidnapping a person, especially someone like Artoria who seems hard but still has a soft spot deep inside. It's more effective than any torture or magic."
He paused and dropped a key piece of information:
"And, can you guess who is currently behind the scenes, not hesitating to use the resources and connections accumulated by the Einzbern family to try and build a channel connecting Fuyuki City's leylines and the Holy Grail system for Artoria?" Without waiting for Jeanne to answer, he provided the answer himself. "It is none other than Irisviel's seemingly aloof grandfather, Jubstacheit von Einzbern. For the family's long-cherished wish, for that illusory Third Magic, he is quite 'enthusiastic.'"
Jeanne frowned slightly. "So you're going to...?"
Kanjuro did not answer directly, but the smile on his face became deeper and more inscrutable. He turned and continued walking through the snow at a leisurely pace.
"A good play always needs a proper stage and... key characters who can drive the plot." His figure began to blur in the heavy snow, as if merging into this pure white world. "And Illya is the best... 'gift' I have prepared for this final act."
As his voice fell, his form completely transformed into a twisted shadow, like ink dropped into clear water, quietly dissipating into the wind and snow without leaving a trace.
Jeanne stood alone, the wind and snow brushing past her silver-white hair and cold armor. She looked in the direction where Kanjuro had vanished, the look of curiosity and inquiry in her eyes growing even stronger. She whispered to herself, as if stating a fact:
"Pure evil, combined with meticulously calculated warmth... Kanjuro, just how far are you going to perform this despair?"
Meanwhile, deep within the castle, in a warm room decorated like an exquisite cage.
The silver-haired, red-eyed Illyasviel von Einzbern was curled up by the window on a thick carpet, holding a slightly old teddy bear. Her crimson eyes stared blankly at the swirling snow outside, her small face carrying a confusion and an imperceptible sadness unbefitting her age.
She remembered the man who had suddenly come to the castle many days ago.
He was different from everyone else. He wasn't like Kiritsugu, who was always distant and full of guilt, nor was he like those cold Homunculus maids in the castle. He was always very gentle; he would squat down to look her in the eye, listen to her talk patiently, perform some interesting little magic tricks to make her happy, and bring beautifully wrapped candies from the outside world. He was... much kinder than Kiritsugu.
However, she had also secretly seen Mama (Irisviel) crying in a corner when no one was around. When she gathered the courage to ask Mama why she was sad, Mama just hugged her tightly, her tears falling even harder as she choked out, "It's all because of... because of your 'father'..."
Illya could feel the deep, almost tangible hatred in Mama's words. She didn't understand why Mama hated someone who was so gentle to her. Was it because he rarely came to see them? Or... had she done something he didn't like, which affected Mama?
A nameless sense of grievance and self-doubt welled up in her heart. She hugged the teddy bear tighter, buried her face in the soft fur of the doll, and murmured to herself in a small, tearful voice:
"What did... Illya do wrong?"
Just then, a very familiar, gentle voice that seemed capable of melting ice and snow softly rang out behind her:
"Illya."
With just a single call, all of Illya's grievances and sadness seemed to vanish instantly. She whipped her head around, a pure and brilliant smile of surprise blooming on her face, her crimson eyes sparkling as if filled with starlight.
"It's you! Uncle Kanjuro!" Illya's voice was filled with undisguised joy. Like a happy little bird, she almost threw herself into Kanjuro's arms. To her, Kanjuro's presence was the only real and warm color in this cold castle.
Kanjuro smiled and naturally picked up the petite Illya, his movements both natural and filled with an unquestionable sense of possession. He used his hand to brush away the stray snowflakes from her silver hair that had drifted in through the window, his tone so gentle it could drip with water. "Illya, tell Uncle, how has your mama... been lately?"
At the mention of her mother, Illya's small face immediately fell, and she pouted aggrievedly. "Mama... Mama is always crying secretly. I ask her why, and she only says Papa is a bad person... but she never tells me who Papa is or what bad things he did. Uncle Kanjuro, do you know who my papa is? Why does Mama hate him so much?" She looked up, her crimson eyes filled with confusion and a longing for answers.
Kanjuro sighed softly, a sigh that seemed to carry endless 'helplessness' and 'sadness.' He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss onto Illya's smooth forehead. This action was full of affection, yet it also carried the weight of marking ownership.
"Because your mama, Illya," his voice was low and magnetic, weaving words of great allure, "she has been trapped in the family's mission for too long. In a sense, she is also a puppet, a tool used to realize an ancient wish, a sacrifice of this cruel Holy Grail War. She cannot understand... certain deeper things, nor can she understand that your 'father' might not be what she thinks. He might even... have been trying to protect you in his own way, bearing an unimaginable burden."
"My father... he..." Illya's heart skipped a beat for some reason, and a vague yet highly anticipated guess formed in her mind.
Kanjuro looked at the hope flickering in her eyes, a smile of faint bitterness and tolerance appearing on his face. "Silly child, can't you tell yet?"
Illya's whole body shook, and her crimson eyes widened instantly. All the clues connected at this moment—that unique sense of closeness, that inexplicable trust, that faint resonance deep within her bloodline... She suddenly hugged Kanjuro's neck tightly, her voice filled with excitement and sobbing, "I knew it! I knew it was you! I felt it from you... it's different from Mama, but it feels very warm and reassuring! But... but why does Mama hate you so much? What did she mean by 'bad person'?"
A flicker of imperceptible coldness flashed deep within Kanjuro's eyes, yet his expression remained filled with a gentle look of "having no choice." He didn't answer the thorny question directly but instead skillfully shifted the topic, masking the truth with an enticing proposal.
"Some things are hard to explain with words. Come, Illya," he said, tightening his hold on her arm, "I'll take you somewhere, a place where you can see the truth of all this more clearly."
"Mm!" Illya nodded vigorously. Her unreserved trust in Kanjuro caused her to ignore the faint trace of unease in her heart.
Kanjuro's figure transformed once again into a dense shadow, enveloping Illya within it. Illya only felt a distortion in the space around her as the sound of wind whistled in her ears. The weightlessness brought by the speed made her subconsciously hug Kanjuro tighter. A moment later, the surrounding scenery stabilized. They were no longer in that warm room but instead stood in a cold underground space filled with a dense magical aura and metallic textures.
This was the deepest hidden core of the Leyline within Einzbern Castle, a massive Magical Workshop. Countless thick conduits spread across the walls and ceiling like blood vessels, connecting to a complex Magic Foundation in the center that emitted a faint, eerie glow. The air was thick with the fluorescence of Mana Particles and the smell of machine oil.
In front of that massive Magic Foundation, an old man dressed in traditional German formal wear, with white hair and beard and a stiff, serious face—Jubstacheit von Einzbern—was kneeling on the ground in a nearly pious posture. He didn't notice the two people who had quietly appeared behind him, and continued to whisper prayers to the operating workshop in a trembling voice filled with fanaticism and paranoia:
"Soon... it will be soon... as long as we have a little more time, at the moment this Holy Grail War completely ends and the energy reaches its peak... the path to the 'Root' can be thoroughly opened! Jubstacheit... no, the thousand-year long-cherished wish of the Einzbern family... I only want, I only want to witness with my own eyes the miracle of the Holy Grail reaching The Root!"
His voice echoed in the empty workshop, filled with the madness and longing of a desperate gamble.
Illya was startled by the unfamiliar sight and the strange state of her great-grandfather (whose true identity she didn't know), and she subconsciously shrank into Kanjuro's arms.
Holding Illya, Kanjuro stood quietly in the shadows like a cold spectator, watching Jubstacheit's performance. He lowered his head and whispered into Illya's ear in a voice only the two of them could hear, his tone carrying a faint trace of mockery and pity:
"Look, Illya. This is the true 'cage' that bound your mother and bound your birth. So-called family affection and wishes are nothing compared to that illusory goal in the eyes of these people." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Jubstacheit's humble back before falling back onto Illya's confused little face.
"And now, tell me, my dear daughter... are you willing to help 'Papa' break this cage together and end this tragedy that has lasted far too long?"
Illya looked at Grandpa Hayde, who was kneeling before the Magic Foundation looking half-mad; her small face was written with confusion and a hint of unease. Her crimson eyes looked toward Kanjuro as she asked softly, "Uncle Kanjuro... what's wrong with Grandpa Hayde? He looks so strange..."
A timely look of sorrow and helplessness appeared on Kanjuro's face. He sighed softly, the sound exceptionally clear amidst the magical humming of the workshop. He crouched down, meeting Illya's eyes at her level, and spoke in a low, seductive voice:
"What's wrong with him? Illya, can't you see? He is The Root of all this pain, the culprit who blocks love and creates tragedy." His finger pointed gently at Jubstacheit. "It is his paranoia, his madness, and his greed for that so-called 'Root' that forced your mother to become a tool and prevented our family... from being reunited."
Within Illya's eyes, a very faint, ominous black mist began to swirl—Kanjuro's quietly applied mental influence was taking effect. She tilted her head, her logic being skillfully guided. "Is it because of Grandpa Hayde... that Papa and Mama can't be together?" She had already begun to subconsciously use the title "Papa."
"Yes, that's exactly it, my clever daughter." A flash of approval and deeper malice crossed Kanjuro's eyes as he affirmed the conclusion Illya had been led to. Then, as if by magic, an ancient-looking dagger with a blade shimmering with a dark, cold light appeared in his palm. He handed the dagger toward Illya with gentle movements, as if he were offering a precious gift rather than a murder weapon.
"Now, Illya, are you willing to help Papa? For our family, for your weeping mother, will you do a small thing?" His voice was so gentle it was hair-raising. "With this, just one gentle stroke, and all the pain and shackles can be ended."
Illya looked at the dagger, her eyes somewhat dazed, but filled more with a hypnotic obedience. She reached out her small hand and took the heavy weapon.
"If you don't fully believe me yet," Kanjuro stood up and pointed to a shadow in the corner of the workshop where discarded magical materials were piled, "you can hide there first and see and hear for yourself. You will understand that everything Papa does is for us."
Illya nodded and obediently hugged the dagger, shrinking into that shadow. Her small figure almost merged with the darkness.
Kanjuro straightened his non-existent lapels, his face returning to its usual elegance and composure, and stepped toward Jubstacheit, who was still immersed in his own world.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the silent workshop, finally startling the old Magician kneeling on the ground. Jubstacheit jerked his head up, his clouded eyes suddenly shrinking the moment he saw Kanjuro, filled with horror and disbelief.
"You... It's you?! How can you be here?!" His voice was dry and raspy, carrying a hint of fear. "The Einzbern barrier couldn't possibly have no reaction!"
Kanjuro didn't answer his question but simply looked down at him, the corners of his mouth curling into a cold arc. "Still dreaming the sweet dream of reaching The Root, Jubstacheit? Sacrificing your own descendants for an illusory goal, manufacturing them into Homunculi to serve as vessels and tools for the Holy Grail... a thousand years of obsession is truly pathetic and laughable."
"What do you know!" The old Magician seemed to have been poked in a sore spot. He struggled to stand up, his body staggering slightly from the long period of kneeling and his current agitation. "The long-cherished wish of the Einzberns! The miracle of the Third Magic, Heaven's Feel! What a noble goal this is! For it, all sacrifices are worth it!"
"Worth it?" Kanjuro chuckled, his laughter full of undisguised mockery. "Including pushing your 'granddaughter' Irisviel and that even smaller 'work' Illya into the fire?"
"They... they were born to carry the family's ideals! This is their glory!" Jubstacheit argued forcefully, but an imperceptible flicker of hesitation crossed the depths of his eyes—the final struggle over the rationality of his own actions.
"Glory?" Kanjuro slowly raised his hand, and dark magical power began to converge at his fingertips, forming a heart-palpitating vortex. "Then let me be the one to end this hypocritical 'glory' of yours. Your utility has just about reached its end."
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